


May Into December

by OtakuElf



Series: Strawberries and Cream [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Sexual Relationship, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:15:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuElf/pseuds/OtakuElf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grey Warden Alistair is given plenty of warning that he'll be placed on the throne of Ferelden by Warden Theron Maheriel, and decides that it would be better to learn the ropes before he weds and beds Anora.  But who would be the best to teach him what he needs to know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Realizing that the people who will be reading this will be part of the fandom, and will already know the background, the later chapters won't be explanatory, or at least not as much as the first chapter.

The path to the yielding of the Grey Warden Alistair's virginity got... complicated. 

For Alistair it started when he was born, he guessed. It was just easier to concentrate on physical activities - first as stable boy, then as a templar in training. A bully was less likely to bother an intimidating fighter, especially one who kept to himself, and didn’t want to be in charge. He wasn’t the best, but then, he didn’t have the drive to beat others, exactly. As well, many of the boys thought that Alistair was just...a little crazy. Crazy? For perfectly ordinary things like screaming hysterically, then telling the Brothers that he was just checking. Or locking himself in a cage for a day. Or telling others that he had been raised by giant slobbering flying dogs from the Anderfels, which was marginally better than being Arl Eamon’s bastard.

Only he wasn’t Arl Eamon’s bastard. And he’d known it for so long that he couldn’t remember when the Arl had told him first, drummed it into Alistair’s head that he must never tell, that he was meant for something else, but never king. He was just a stable boy. Redcliff was home until the Arlessa came. Until Arlessa Isolde sent him to the Chantry.

And now, he and Theron the only two remaining Ferelden Grey Wardens were working their way through the country side fighting the Blight, and they’d picked up a bunch of companions. The ones that were most annoying, aside from Morrigan, were Oghren and Zevran, who spent more time teasing Alistair about his virginity, than they did about the prince thing. It was to be preferred, Alistair guessed, after all, one could never lose one’s blood - or hopefully one wouldn’t, but one could cut one’s hair or give up one’s virginity. Wait...Alistair had gone through too many ‘one’s...no, no he was thinking about... that sex was too blatant a word, and it was not the first time he had been offered a prostitute, but the look in the Dwarven woman’s eyes would have killed any desire if it had been there in the first place.

Looking at his companions as possible … well, companions? lovers? - Alistair was not interested in men, although Zevran seemed the willing type if his boastful statements could be considered truth. Leliana was pretty but not right in the head. Besides, she was pining for Theron, who wanted an Elven wife and had no interest in humans. Morrigan was beautiful outside, but mean, and corrupted Alistair suspected, on the inside. Not, he decided, because she was a mage. Wynne was a mage, and she was a good person. Even consorting with the Fade spirit had not changed that. Consorting. What an odd way to put it. Alistair, for all his templar training could not see Wynne as an abomination, though he had plenty of ability to see Flemeth so, or Morrigan as ready to become one.

Of their companions Alistair was relieved to have Wynne at his back. She could make with the finger pointing and guilt, but she’d been there with her cool, competent hands more than once when he had gotten his bell rung in battle. She and Theron listened to him, really listened to what he was saying, not just to Alistair the idiot.

Theron Maheriel, Junior Gray Warden and placed firmly in charge by Alistair, had outlined his expectations. He, Alistair, having escaped the Grand Cleric and the Chantry and the Templars, would be placed on the throne. That this included marriage to Anora, Loghaine’s daughter, had not been needed to be said so far as Alistair was concerned. Theron had said it.

Alistair understood that there were always consequences. It seemed that no matter what his choices, his life would never be his own, much of it because of other people’s choices, not his. It would be nice, he thought, to make a decision that would have some happiness in it beyond that of duty done well.

... 

Theron spoke to Wynne, his manner grave and courteous, as always. “Alistair will be king,” as though the thought were a fact beyond doubt or consideration.

“Do you mean that you have decided this? I know that Alistair says he has no desire for the throne,” Wynne appreciated being accepted as council to Theron, but sometimes it was not easy for her to follow his train of thought.

“Loghaine Mac Tir hated the Orlesians with such passion that he destroyed his king, his daughter’s husband, the son of his best friends, and many others at Ostagar rather than ally with the Orlesians or anyone else against the Blight. He is a human like those who set forward the exalted march to the Dales. Like those who destroyed the ancient Elven Kingdom, Arlathan. Like the Empire that murdered your Andraste.

A man such as that will not yield to the greater good, much less to the Gray Wardens, whom he sees as alien and a threat. He will not stand against us. Alistair will be king. I have explained it to him.” And that, Theron seemed to think, was that.

Wynne bowed her head, and Theron allowed her time for rumination. “What do you need me to do?” the mage asked finally, a calm gaze into the Gray Warden’s green eyes.

“I do not think you are as ruthless as I have heard the Gray Wardens are meant to be, as I intend to be, but all the same I have faith in your wisdom and common sense. In your practicality, and your wits at my back. In your understanding of the absurdity of our situation.” Theron’s shamelessly mischievous grin drew a laugh from the older mage, before the Dalish Elf said, “There. Good. Your sense of humor as well, for no one who cares for Alistair could forgo that.”

“Do you care for him, Theron?” wondered Wynne.

The Dalish shrugged and replied simply, “You are my clan now. I care for all of you. You and I will train him to be a good king.”

“Thank you, my friend,” and Wynne smiled.

...

“Zev”, Alistair asked the assassin quietly, “Why do you keep commenting on Wynne’s bosom. Don’t you have respect for anyone?” They were gathering wood for the campfire, Alistair relieved that Morrigan was not cooking, and the rest of the party thankful that Alistair was not. 

“Why do you keep asking her to mend your clothing? You have called her ‘grandmotherly’ three times by my counting,” Zevran returned in his strongly Antivan accented tenor.

“That’s not being disrespectful! I pay her the compliment of relying on her competency,” Alistair answered loftily.

“No woman, my dear Alistair, wishes to be relegated to the role of servant. Or… safe. Besides, Wynne has a very fine bosom. Not sagging in the least for all my quips. Nor is her behind in any way to be denigrated.” Zevran cocked an eyebrow at the Gray Warden, “How is it that you have not noticed this, my friend. For all her years, our Wynne is a soft and shapely woman. Which, as I believe I have mentioned is what I prefer.

Though not exclusively,” Zevran added as an afterthought, “I do also like strong, dangerous hands that know how to handle a blade as well,” the assassin leered as if to keep in practice.

Alistair by this time had learned to discount Zevran’s statements to himself, at least with regard to sex. He was *fairly* sure that Zevran had only been interested in Theron, and now was just making comments for show. It was amazing, Alistair reflected, how worldly he was getting, traveling with an Orlesian Bard, a Qunari Sten, and an Orzammarian dwarf warrior, not to mention his fellow Dalish Gray Warden. The apostate Wilder Witch was nothing on the rest of them.

Zevran’s voice broke into Alistair’s thoughts, “You should go to Wynne, my friend, since you will not let me relieve you of your little problem, or to Leliana, since I know you will not approach Morrigan. Older women have more substance, are more robust, more flavorful as my friend Salvail would say,” Zevran smirked in a fashion carefully calculated to annoy.

“It’s not a problem,” Alistair ground out.

“So you have said. Multiple times,” Zevran smirked again, deliberately adding a touch of leer, “Myself? I think you make too much of it.”

“I was raised to be a gentleman about such things”, was the severe reply as Alistair dropped quite a few sticks from his bundle and desperately tried to catch them in midair.

“Yes, yes. By women of the Chantry who were in all probability watching you strong, young, handsome candidates spar in the courtyard and wishing you would one and all disport roughly with them on the Chantry floor.”

Zevran looked up at the unexpected silence to see Alistair staring at him with wide-eyed horror. Zevran made his way through the scrub to pat the former templar on his armored shoulder, “There, there, Alistair. I have not broken you, have I?”

Alistair shuddered, “I did not think there was anything more horrible than the thought of Oghren having sex…

Oh! No! No! “ hands began to wave in the air dropping all that he had gathered, “Now I have a vision of Oghren and the Grand Cleric!” Alistair looked ready to vomit at the thought.

Zevran gazed appreciatively up at the larger, darker blonde man, “Alistair, you are one of the most imaginative men I know. How I wish I could harness that imagination for my own purposes!”

Wynne and the others noticed Alistair racing from the woods, followed slowly by a chuckling Antivan Crow. All had reached for their weapons, but relaxed when the Senior Gray Warden (by six months) stopped by the fire and dumped his load of branches with a crash and a sheepish look. Zevran, laughing out loud, volunteered to organize Alistair’s wood.


	2. Thoughts...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alistair thinks...

Alistair had gratefully put his sword through the middle of a large number of darkspawn until the sulk had gone away. Unfortunately, then on the way back to camp Oghren had once more chafed him by saying, “I can smell purity a mile away.”

Alistair wasn’t a complete moron, or all *that* innocent. He’d been around the Templars and other assorted guards and workmen for years and listened to their boasting and other talk and... discussion of lamp post licking. So to speak.

He knew how to make a baby, in theory, provided he ever found the right woman. Well, it looked as though the right woman was going to be Anora, regardless of his choice. And what would his choice have been? It was cloudy and based on an ideal combined from all the women he had ever met, from the barmaids in Denerim to... well, not Lady Isolde. Nor Morrigan. Nor Flemeth.

Maker! Why was this all so difficult?

...

Not long afterward Theron, Alistair, and Wynne, had returned to Ostagar to retrieve Caillan's armor. After setting the King’s funereal pyre, and as they turned for camp Wynne said with a sigh, "It has been a long day. Alistair, by the lines around your eyes, I dare say you look as old as I."

"If I may say so, milady, you appear to be getting younger by the day," was an unusually courtly response from the ex-Templar.

"Be careful who you flirt with young man," Wynne chuckled, "When you wake up beside me tomorrow morning I'll be back to reminding you of your grandmother. It would not be the first time I woke to a younger man in my bed." Wynne waited for the usual banter in response, perhaps with a touch of blush on the boy's cheeks. It did not come this time, Alistair was looking at her as if he had been poleaxed, or as if she were running through the snow dressed as Morrigan. "Alistair," she asked with some concern, "Is anything the matter?"

A bright blush began to climb Alistair's neck, reaching up to his hair line, "I…" Alistair stammered, "I … you *don't* remind me of my grandmother, Wynne."

"What's wrong Alistair?" The healer took a step toward him, with the vague thought to check for fever.

The boy put his hands up in the air in front of himself, warding her off. "Nothing! I … I’ll talk to you later, alright?"

A puzzled Wynne nodded her head, and watched him sprint off to catch up with Theron.

...

"That sounded a lot better in my head," muttered Alistair.

"Alistair," Wynne was amused in spite of herself as she said, "I can not teach you to court Anora.”

“I’m not asking you to teach me how to court her. I’m asking you to teach me how to... er... how to have sex. To...uh, asking you to have sex with me,” Alistair stammered, “To put it bluntly.”

“Very bluntly.” Wynne blinked at the young man nonplussed. “Why on earth would you be asking me this? Why not Leliana or Zevran?” she asked.

“Because I don’t care for them the way I do for you. I like you, Wynne. You’re funny and you’re beautiful, you have experience - you’ve said so yourself, and you’re my friend.”

“Beautiful? Oh Alistair, check your eyesight,” was the first thing Wynne thought to say.

“But you are beautiful. And formidable,” Alistair’s tone could only be called wheedling, “Please Wynne? You said yourself that we could die any day. I don’t want to die a virgin. And I don’t want to bed Cailan’s widow as my first. I also don’t want to go to the Pearl. There are just some things that I think should be done between friends, between people who have a connection.

You do like me, don’t you Wynne? And you’re clean...” he hesitated at her expression, “Well, that’s a good thing isn’t it? I always did wonder why the guards were so particular about cleanliness, especially as the women they were talking to in Denerim didn’t look particularly scrubbed” then warned by her face, “...shutting up now.”

Wynne rubbed her temples and wondered what she had gotten herself into.

Alistair repeated softly, “Please Wynne?", then, "I don’t want to go to Anora’s bed and fumble at her. I don’t need to be as skilled as Zevran says he is, or Leliana says she is for that matter, or anything like that, but I do want to have some idea of what to do...so I don’t do it...wrong,” Alistair finished lamely.

“We just need,” Alistair blushed, “We do need to make sure that I don’t get you pregnant. You can guess how I feel about that. I can guess how you would feel about that, since you’ve already...” he didn’t know how to go on.

Wynne looked up at Alistair, handsome and sweet and just a touch innocent, and felt a slight stir of physical interest at the thought of him in her bed, something she had been careful to tamp down regarding her traveling companions. “Theron,” she thought, “I *know* this is not what you meant when you told me to train him.” Out loud she said, "Alright, Alistair,” and then she nodded, “I will let you know when. And pregnancy will not be an issue.”


	3. Seduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looking for feedback.

“Alistair, please come for a walk with me.”

Alistair swallowed hard, “Now? What will the others think? Won't they notice?”

“They will notice, no matter when or how we do this. Theron has them working on the inventory right now, so yes, they will notice we are not there. Leave your armor here, and bring your towel.

Wait, is that your towel? How ... how did it get so stiff like that? It's hardened into a rolled position, Alistair, and I don't think words can describe what you must have done with it. Leave it.”

The moon was full, and light was plentiful on the bank of the stream. It was a good place, Wynne thought, moss and rocks, and clear water making a pleasant sound.

"It's pretty out here, isn't it?" Alistair echoed her thoughts.

"Yes. I don't often think to sit out. In the tower you don't see the sky very much. No one goes to the top of the tower, and just underneath...well, nobody goes to the top of the tower,"

"Zevron says that the Circle Mages meet on the night of the full moon, naked on top of the tower, and then... er...Zev would be disappointed wouldn't he?"

"Zevron would be disappointed indeed," murmured Wynne, unfastening her robes.

Sharply Alistair asked, "What are you doing?"

"I am going for a swim in the stream, Alistair. Would you like to join me?" 

Wynne dropped the robes on the cobbled beach and walked gingerly to the water, bare feet, bare everything. The night was warm, the water was cool, and Wynne gracefully managed the entrance into a deep swirl of water that when standing would come about to her hips.

Pulling back into the shadow of an overhanging tree she watched as Alistair divested himself of his boots, socks, tunic, pants, and finally clout. The only thing that remained was his patched symbol of Andraste, but looking down he sighed and removed that as well. The Gray Warden was an extremely well set up man. In spite of the cool water the mage began to feel flushed. 

"Wynne?" he didn't see her.

"Here," Wynne pushed off from the slick rocks of the bottom and slipped out into the moonlight, "Are you coming in?"

“Growing up we had the lake,” Alistair said, looking at the relatively small amount of water.

Wynne nodded, face barely visible in the moonlight although her hair and skin shone, but "Yes, we had that too, but so far as I know none of the tower swam in it after one of the mages tried to escape by swimming."

Alistair walked gradually into the water, then slid down next to her, "The bottom's not as bad. The lake bottom is all weeds and muck."

Smiling Wynne said, "here it's all slimy rocks, mind the sharp edges."

"Wynne?"

"Yes, Alistair?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Catch me!" Wynne smiled and slipped away into the water.

Alistair caught her quickly. Laughing she tried to catch him next, which proved to be impossible, and she started splashing him, only to be deluged by an overwhelming amount of water. Attacking from behind the fighter grabbed the mage around the waist, so she turned, slipped her arms around his neck, and pulled him down to be kissed. Was it his first kiss, Wynne wondered? Shy, tentative, but taking encouragement from her mouth, a startled movement when she slipped her tongue, first lightly into his parted mouth, then more boldly exploring what he had to offer her. Alistair was so caught up learning the intricacies of kissing that he jumped when Wynne pulled back and laid a caressing finger along side his lips, "Gently, gently. Later is for hard kissing,"

She laughed at the genteel peck received in response.

Standing with him in the moonlight, hip deep in the cool water, there was no lack of interest on Alistair's part. Leaving one hand at his neck, Wynne began to run her fingers in a long smooth slow caress down his body. She could hear him breathing, feel his breath on her hair, feel his absorption in the hand that was slowly making way over and down and across to his hardened, heated member.

Wynne tangled her fingers through the growth of short hair, dark in the moonlight, and ran her cool hand along his length. Enjoying the catch in his breath, she began to stroke the soft hot skin, not grasping the hardness of him yet, tracing and exploring. "Alistair?" his name was hushed in the darkness.

There was a small gasp, and he moved against her hand, "Yes?" his voice came breathily against her hair.

"I am going to bring you first. Otherwise you won't last for me. Is this all right?" Alistair could hear Wynne's voice through his body, pressed as she was against him.

Alistair had an idea of what she meant, nodded his head, then said softly, "Yes."

The hand at his neck disappeared, and Wynne moved down his body, to kneel, not too stiffly she hoped, on the slick stones of the stream bed, and take his erection into her hands. Wynne put her mouth to the tip, and kissed her way along the length, before drawing her tongue along the curve of it, lubricating, then taking him in her joined hands began to stroke. Alistair did not last long, coming with a cry in a stream of semen that shot over Wynne's shoulder and down her back.

Brushing it off with a handful of water, scrubbing her knees as she got up, Wynne was pulled off her feet by Alistair's arms around her waist, his mouth on hers, hard, but not painful. Wynne relaxed into the embrace, enjoying being the recipient of exploring, lifting hands, of Alistair's lips on hers, on her face. When he finally stopped for breath, Wynne laughed, "You liked that, did you?"

"Much better than... you know, doing it yourself," Alistair was laughing at himself.

“Mmm.. .” Wynne hummed, “It gets better.”

“Now,” Wynne looked up at the fighter, “What do you remember about the Desire Demons we fought? The first thing you noticed about them?”

Alistair let her go, then made a gesture, cupping his hands at his chest, and Wynne laughed.

Reaching forward she took those hands and brought them to her own breasts. Thank the Maker they really had not lost their shape over the years. Alistair’s touch was gentle, though his hands were calloused from years of sword work. Wynne remembered that he had been a stable boy, so his background was not just metal and force. 

“Maker, they’re so soft,” was Alistair’s thought as he cupped what Zevran called Wynne’s Magnificent Bosom. Soft and round, except for the hardened nipples pushing at his palms. Wynne’s own hands were lifted to touch his chest, to draw circles around his own nipples, to gently rub, to encourage him by example. It had been so long since Wynne had felt the touch of a hand at her breast, the heat of a lover’s touch, and she ached where Alistair was stroking her.

Leading him to the blanket she knelt and began to run her tongue in circles, starting along the definition of his chest and working her way in to the hardened flat nipples. Sucking on each one in turn gently, pulling at his lightly with her teeth, she encouraged Alistair to do the same to her. She took her time before reclining on the blanket, before kissing him hotly on the lips, before moving her kisses down his beautiful body, trailing her fingers along where she had kissed, and bit, and tongued his skin. Teasing along away from his erection she watched it move as she drew near, then away again. Alistair was sighing at her touch now, and when she finally drew her tongue down the length of his sex she heard a moan. He was hard again already. One of the blessings of youth, Wynne thought, or perhaps a gift from the taint of a Gray Warden. For a moment she was tempted to continue, but the point of this … well, exercise, was to teach Alistair these skills. Pulling away, breathing heavily herself, Wynne lay next to Alistair. “Your turn to try that,” she whispered before kissing him on the corner of the mouth.

Alistair copied what she had done, starting with kisses on her mouth and face, and moving slowly down her body to her breasts. Sucking on each nipple, running his tongue around the halo of the aureole, his broad hand resting on her hip, he listened to Wynne’s breathy sounds of encouragement, and began careful little bites on the skin below, down Wynne’s slender waist, across her slightly rounded belly. He was almost between her legs now, and Wynne was aching to have him touch her there.

“Alistair,” she whispered, and when he lifted his head she drew her fingers across his lips, then ran them down her own body, opening her legs, and leading him to her gate. The man looked at her with a grin she could see in the moonlight, and began to explore, first with probing caressing fingers, and then with his mouth and tongue. Wynne’s gasps and moans started off softly, but she was glad they were not in camp for the others to hear her as they went along.

Merciful Andraste, he was going to bring her before they even had a chance to copulate. Was it because she had been so long without any touch but her own? That could cause it’s own problems. Pulling away from him she smiled at his disappointed look. “What you are doing is marvelous,” she had to swallow before she could speak, “But I am …” how could she put it? “I want you inside of me. Now.”

Guiding him up to top her, his cock pushing at her gate, entering her slowly, Wynne lifted her hips to allow him fuller access. She was wet, but tight, and glad of it for his sake. It took several thrusts before he was fitted completely inside of her, and at her murmured encouragement began to move with her, thrusting down as she rose to meet him. He filled her. Again and again and again, until his weight upon her, the scent of him, his groan in her ear, “Oooh!” all served to tip her over the edge, and Wynne cried out as she came, wrapping her legs around his.

Alistair did not stop, and she felt him pushing harder, a little faster, by instinct until he exploded inside her, his voice joining hers in breaking the silence of the stream side.

He held her tightly, until they both stopped twitching, then rolled aside to lie next to her. “Hah!” he puffed out a breath, “That was... well, why would people want to do anything else?”

“If all we did was make love, Alistair, everyone would starve,” Wynne was breathless herself.

“Good point,” Alistair sounded very pleased, “Well, then we could eat and make love...that would be just fine with me.”

Rolling to her side, Wynne ran her finger down his stomach, watching the muscles twitch under her hand, “So you liked that too, did you?” Wynne struggled to contain her cat in the cream smile. 

She was not successful. Though it was hard to see in the dark, even with the moonlight. It did, however, come out in her voice.  
Alistair’s response was to catch Wynne up and kiss her hard. “I am a bad bad man, and the Chantry says that I should be struck by lightning about now. Can we do that again?” he asked.

“That depends entirely on how soon you and I can be ready again,” Wynne said with amusement.

That night was Wynne's own introduction to the stamina of the Grey Wardens.


	4. Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reactions from the party. Because your friends are ALWAYS watching you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have guessed, a lot of this writing was done by the Dragon Age RPG writing team (and a most excellent job they did of it too), so don't give me credit for the witty dialogue from Zevran and Leliana etc.

Wynne stretched awake to cacophonous birdsong and early morning sunlight. “What a glorious morning,” first thought, was wryly followed by, “How am I able to move at all?”

The solid bulk of Alistair rose beside her in the small tent, a blanket draped across his hips. Turning to study his sleeping form, Wynne propped herself up on one arm as she watched him. The muscular swordsman’s arm was thrown over his eyes like a sleeping child, a slight smile on his lips, his breathing was regular and deep. It occurred to Wynne only now that a Gray Warden as a sleeping companion would not always be so peaceful, for she had heard both men crying out when trapped in dreams of darkspawn. 

Even with the sunlight masked by the fabric of the tent Alistair’s hair glinted gold, the soft hairs along his arms, the shock of red gold appearing against the pack he used as a pillow, the slightly darker gold just clearing the blanket edge.

“So beautiful” was the murmur, stretching her hand out to touch the hard muscles of the chest, the flat belly, Wynne caught sight of her hand. Long fingers, short trimmed nails for she’d never been one for idle vanity, brown spots and loose pale skin tattling her age. The morning sun was crueler than the moonlight had been.

A calloused hand engulfed that sad sight and raised it as Alistair brought it to his lips. Wynne could not fail to respond to the sunny smile as he lowered their joined hands to the bedroll between. “Feeling shy?” his voice was soft and a slight blush traced his cheeks, “I refuse to be.”

“After the first time? Possibly. After the fifth time, I don’t think so,” Wynne’s laugh was low as she disengaged her hand deliberately, and ran her fingers along the well-defined musculature, from his solid chest down along the ridges of his abdomen, and under the blanket to the substantial morning bloom of interest.

The mage was unprepared as Alistair rolled on top of her, pulling Wynne up for a hearty kiss before pressing her back against the bedroll for a more involved exploration of her mouth. His desire pressed hot and hard against her leg, and for a moment she worried that she would not be ready for him. Alistair’s hand slowly began to move down her body, seeking, pressing, proving that he remembered the things he had learned last night. Warmth built, and wetness, until an aching, ready Wynne spread her legs to receive him, thought of all else washed away by sweetness and heat.

…

It was difficult for them both to dress at once in the small tent. Alistair seemed content to watch Wynne, in no hurry himself. Wynne stopped at the tent flap and took a deep breath, preparing for her obvious exit from a younger man’s bed into a very small camp full of people who had nothing better to do but gossip when not fighting darkspawn. “Wynne,” Alistair’s use of her name had changed in some fashion that Wynne could not describe, “May I see you tonight as well?”

“I’d like that very much, Alistair,” Wynne smiled over her shoulder before she crawled out of the tent.

…

Travel was long that day, and to start Alistair did not seem to want to leave Wynne’s side to take his normal place up front with their Dalish Warden. The man did not know the meaning of the word ‘discretion’. Wynne herself felt pleased at his presence, beyond her usual enjoyment of Alistair’s company. She struggled against the feeling of infatuation. Really, she was going to end up giggling like a schoolchild, and all over one night of sharing her bed. One long, extremely enjoyable, very active night of sharing her bed. Wynne bit back a yawn. Again, really, she had never experienced anything quite like it, not even with that mage who had made a specialty of “those sorts” of spells.

It wasn’t just Allistair’s enthusiasm, though he had bucket loads of that. He learned quickly and well. “Of course,” Wynne thought, “He was trained as a Templar. The mage Watchers would know body language, watch for it, understand the meanings of small movements.”

Perhaps, Wynne thought, it was also that he was not selfish. Alistair seemed to look at sex as two people working together toward a goal, rather than as something to be done, or have done to you. Analysis was so much a part of Wynne’s existence that she found herself fighting it now, trying to retain some of the simple enjoyment of the night and morning.

Leliana and Zevran, who normally walked with Wynne in the center of the party, shot her bland glances, flicking their eyes back and forth from the fighter to the mage. When their leader called Alistair up to the front with him, Wynne braced herself for comments and questions from the pair.

“I must say, my dear Wynne, that you look quite relaxed this morning. It… suits you,” butter would not have melted in Zevran’s mouth.

After all, Wynne told herself, it was much the same in any community, and certainly she would have been subjected to it at the Circle.

Leliana began, “So, you and Alistair…”

Wynne bit back a sigh, “Alistair and I what?”

“You and Alistair. Together, looking contented. You even have a glow about you. So shameless.”

“Shameless?” Wynne looked aghast.

“Well, you know, radiating joy and love, while everyone else is thinking about the Blight, death, bleak future. Terrible gloating like that, ”Leliana continued smoothly, “So, how is Alistair?”

Wynne looked at Alistair walking ahead of them, blinked, where were her wits? She endeavored blase, “Alistair looks well to me?”

“You know what I mean. Alistair and you, that long night. He must have been quite delightful, you wouldn’t be this happy otherwise, I think. He’s athletic, that’s always nice. He is also good at following instructions, isn’t he?” Leliana purred, and Zevran’s pointed ears were straining to catch every little bit of the conversation.

The corner of Wynne’s mouth curled up into a small reminiscent smile, “Yes. Sometimes he has brilliant ideas of his own, too.”

Leliana giggled, “Ooo, fascinating. The little templar is all grown up and apparently he… ahem… plays well with others. You must keep me updated on any new developments!”

They failed to notice Zevran movement away - to clearly disassociate himself. “What are you giggling about?” Alistairs’ voice, unexpected, made both Leliana and Wynne jump. He looked at Wynne, “W-what is she giggling about?”

Leliana looked Alistair in the eyes and said, deadpan, “Darkspawn.”

Wynne bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at Alistair’s incredulous expression, “Riiight. Yes, you’re giggling about darkspawn. So funny them darkspawns.”

…

It was not until the next day's travel that the soreness hit. Wynne had forgotten what so much exercise, not to mention friction, would do to a body, and while she did not normally sit in a rocking chair, she was not as active physically as anyone else in the party. Working the Fade was a different type of physical discipline. After their first night together she had been honest with Alistair that she could not keep up their original pace. Alistair had found it amusing this morning. "You have to stretch, Wynne, and a lot of it will go away once you're used to the activity. That is, if you don’t mind continuing. I’d certainly like to.

And you need more exercise. You're the only one here who doesn't exercise. Well, except for Oghren..." Alistair made a face before he went on, "and exercise" here he copied Zevran's eyebrow accurately, "will build up your ... stamina."

"MORE exercise?" she groaned lying curled up on the bedroll, "For what possible reason would I need MORE stamina? I am an old woman..."

Alistair snickered, impolitic, "Not so old as all that, as you've proven to me. What did you tell me? You’re only twenty years older than Leliana! Come on. Do you want me to work the knots out? Or can you," he wiggled his fingers, "Magic those aches away?"

"Damned Templar," was the least of Wynne's mutterings as the infuriating man hooted with laughter. But she did get up, and dressed in a spare pair of Zevron's linen drawstring trousers and an oversized shirt of Theron's Wynne had worked, for it was work, under Alistair's instruction to stretch. He was ... different when doing this. More in command, knowing what was right, what was appropriate. Wynne remembered hearing that he had enjoyed his lessons and been good at them, but it was so easy to forget that when Alistair played the fool and deferred to Theron. When the man went off to perform his own morning combat rituals with the Dalish Warden, Leliana joined her sociably by the fire stirring the breakfast pot of meal. They watched Alistair, Theron, and Sten, ignoring Zevran who had his own exercises and was pointedly doing some things that showed off exactly how limber the Antivan assassin was.

Later that day Alistair spoke to Theron about Wynne learning some basic defense skills. The Dalish Warden assigned Zevran, who the next morning proceeded to cheerfully drive Wynne through a series of movements he wanted her to practice "daily". It was more interesting when the Crow showed Wynne exactly what each move was supposed to do, using Leliana as a target. Cause and effect, as in the magic that Wynne wielded so well, gave an entirely new way to look at something Wynne had seen all of her life. Leliana took being manhandled in good grace, and Zevran was less 'lurid' than usual. That all stopped as soon as the practice time was finished, for Zevran immediately offered to help with Leliana's 'urges'. Leliana told him she'd let him know.

...

Alistair felt amazing. It was not just the sex, he thought, it was the touching and the talking as well. The teasing from Oghren and Zevran had not gone away, but it was definitely altered. Donning the velvet hat? Who talked like that? Oghren had saved it up from where?

And when Zevran had asked Alistair about “the licking of lampposts” while they were bathing, Alistair had smugly said he was being well taken care of in *that* department. After which Zevran knocked his feet out from under him, given him a ducking he was not prepared for, and stalked off with the comment that it was apparent to everyone in camp with ears. Theron had pointed out that perhaps it was best not to be cocky when the rest of the men in camp were not getting their lamp posts licked. It was the closest thing to a racy statement that Alistair had heard from the elf, and he couldn’t help laughing. Zevran tried to keep a straight face, but had soon joined in at the general amusement. Besides, it was not every day that he was able to knock Alistair down.


	5. Leliana and Shoes, part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, why does she like shoes so much anyway?

“How can anyone be so interested in shoes?” Alistair was engaging in the party’s usual past time of gossiping about his comrades.

“Perhaps,” Wynne responded thoughtfully, “that is her personal path to pleasure.”

They were sitting together on a rounded granite boulder eating cheese and bread. The Dwarven trader, Tegrin, had been camped on their way this morning, and now their Dalish leader had gifted Leliana with a pair of blue silken shoes. The bard was dancing with mincing steps on the roadway, careful not to get her gift dusty.

“What do you mean?” Alistair’s voice and face were confused.

‘Just how besotted was she going to get?’ was Wynne’s thought , when the man’s confusion was endearing. “Do you *really* want to talk about this here? Or would you perhaps prefer to talk tonight…in privacy?” that should warn him that this was not a topic for public discussion.

Wynne then warned herself that snide comments about the younger, prettier Leliana were not a good idea. Ever.

“You know, now I’m *really* curious…so… yes. Nobody’s around, Wynne.”

Wynne sighed. Then, “Each person has something that…warms them…triggers their interest. For some men it’s the sight of an overly large bosom or behind. For some women it’s a well formed and muscular man,” Wynne smiled sideways at Alistair’s preening at her words, and she went on, “Some have other behaviors that make their breath quicken, their hearts to race. Some of those things can be…different. Unexpected.”

“Shoes? Feet? Wynne, really? They’re for walking on. And running after Darkspawn. Besides… how would you…indulge…”

“Alistair, any part of a person’s body can be used to excite that person,” Wynne did not have a foot fetish, and really did not want to dwell on those who did.

“Any?”

“Oh no”, Wynne thought, “now Alistair’s imagination was going to race. There will be incredible questions at impossible times.”

Arching an eyebrow at his disbelief, a habit she was picking up from Zevran, Wynne said, “Very well, Alistair, come with me.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m not going near your feet Alistair. I’ve seen your socks. But I think a little demonstration is in order.”

That brought an enormous grin to Alistair’s face.

In a small hidden declivity of the enormous piece of granite, she stopped. “Now, give me your hand.”

Alistair, still grinning, reached for Wynne to pull her close, but she avoided his grasp, “Just your hand…”

“Which one?”

“It does not matter,” and lifting the proffered hand, she set her lips gently upon the joining of his wrist and hand. 

Looking upward at him from under her lashes, Wynne’s tongue traced the pulse, the lines circling like bracelets around his wrist, then followed the lines up along his broad calloused palm, flicked through the sensitive skin between his fingers before climbing to the tip of his middle finger. Even as calloused as the fighter’s hand was, his fingertips were still sensitive. Sliding Alistair’s finger into her mouth Wynne sucked it and tongued it, rocking her head to pull it from her lips, then taking the length back in again. Swallowing with it in her mouth she looked up at him from under her lashes again. Wynne could hear Alistair panting now, and could see that his eyes were glazing over. He was shifting, as though his armor had suddenly become restrictive…uncomfortable.

Stopping in mid suck, Wynne smiled cheerfully and said, “Oh, look, it’s time to get back on the road.”

“No!,” Alistair groaned, “Wynne you can’t leave me this way. I can’t walk like this. Not in an armored codpiece!”

“I’m sure you will catch up with us,” Wynne picked up her staff and walked provocatively away around the rock to join the rest of the party.

Alistair watched her swaying hips and ran his tongue along his lower lip. Then, with a curse he leaned back against the granite wall and struggled to summon up one of the more depressing portions of the Chant of light.


	6. Chapter 6

Weeks passed, and it was no longer surprising that Wynne would share a tent with Alistair, or a room when they managed to find an Inn. Alistair found himself relaxing, opening up to Wynne and after that to Theron. Wynne found herself fighting against feelings she had thought would never be a part of her. And she had certainly ceased to think of Alistair as a boy. She enjoyed the sex, of course, but she also had come to look forward to their discussions, his questions, his thoughts on so many subjects. His fascination in the strange runes he had picked up and that Theron had given him, his knowledge on Templar and Chantry lore, and his experience with physical matters were all of interest. 

They talked about aging, Alistair did not seem to be repulsed by the lines on her face. He didn’t ignore them either, but she wondered if he were thinking about Anora when he smoothed his fingers over them. In that she was close to correct, for Alistair was thinking about his future wife, about growing old with her, about making a family. 

Wynne made sure that Alistair had a good grounding in female anatomy, but even more important to her - an understanding of cycles (to which she was no longer a slave), and the changes in a woman’s body when pregnant. After all, this was in the end about providing Anora with an heir of the Theirin line. The discussion on stretch marks had been interesting.

She was still able to make him blush, as when she explained to him what the guardsmen meant when they said the girls at the Pearl were “clean”. 

Their eventual detailed discussion on pathways to pleasure made Wynne blush. And as she had said, there were some items of fascination that she did not feel knowledgeable enough to enlighten Alistair about. There were also some aspects of sexuality that Wynne herself did not feel comfortable exploring with Alistair - mouth and gate were enough for her, Wynne felt no interest in rear entry and no desire at all to experiment on Alistair in this respect. Alistair’s request for information from Zevran, freely provided in detail which Wynne found technically interesting, turned Alistair bright red with embarrassment and disbelief - to Zevran’s amusement. It gave Alistair a number of things to think about regarding the follies of man. And woman.

Leliana told Wynne that she was living vicariously through the mage. It did give Wynne someone to discuss her relationship with Alistair with to an extent. But Wynne was a controlled woman by nature, and not given to sly comments on her sexual relations with even the best of her friends. Wynne was also convinced that Morrigan was spying on them from time to time. She did not mention it to Alistair, but it made her watchful.


	7. Desire...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They keep meeting up with Desire Demons, don't they.

“What does my son look like now?” Wynne thought of him every day, wondered if he was one of the mages in the circle, one of the Templars watching over them. 

In a way it was a very good thing that Alistair definitely knew his heritage. Wynne had enjoyed one or two nervous moments bedding men, her preferred partners, who might have been her child’s age. In general she avoided anyone who looked like her son’s father, who looked in any way like herself, or anyone sent to the circle from a local chantry. In a community where personal ties were discouraged, while networking was life itself, relationships tended to be somewhat jumbled.

Wynne had no memory of her own family. Would she have been a farmer’s wife if her mage skills had not manifested? Would she have married a local from the area surrounding the family that had “adopted” her? Imagining a life of cooking, cleaning, and bearing children instead of working the fade and controlling the forces of magic in her blood did not make her feel sorrow. Her life had been full, her regrets had been faced and answered.

So, what did the latest desire demon choose to offer her? There were those old saws, youth and the ability to keep Alistair in her bed. Then came the offer of family, the possibility of bearing a child to her lover, to be with him as they raised a brood of their own, while growing old together. It was a desire, it might even have been Wynne’s desire, but it was all too patently not feasible. Alistair and Wynne were both dying. No demon or spirit could stop the taint in Alistair’s blood, in fact, it might have been the demons and spirits who had taught the ancient magisters the blood magic that had turned the Golden City black and started the whole damned tainted blight to begin with. 

Then too, Wynne did not want to be the person she had been twenty five years ago, her aging had been growth. Wynne was also not certain she would be able to be as patient with her own children, body vibrating with hormones, as she had been with her apprentices, once she’d gotten the knack of training them. Cooking for a horde of people, dealing with their needs instead of learning, reading, researching, that was not her desire. And yet she had no temptation to become a pure researcher, away from the bothers of every human life around her.

Alistair, when they talked later, had said only that the demon had offered him a family who accepted him for what he was after the misstep of offering him power as King. Much as his dream had been when they’d been trapped in the Fade, or so she understood from Theron. 

As for Alistair’s thoughts as they walked, he pondered what it would have been like to be married to Wynne, to have children and a family. What would his job have been? Guard? Farmer? All of this moot, and Alistair knew that perfectly well, but it was interesting to think of it. He started to laugh at the thought of Wynne with a house full of children running about like baby chickens, but caught himself after the initial snort. Wynne was also not the best cook in the party, so trying to imagine her making him a mince pie kept the smile on his face.

Then he considered this time going on until they aged and went to the maker. Fighting darkspawn, working with a purpose, it was not a hideous life. Of course, he didn’t want the blight to go on forever, but right now he was enjoying what he did. If only…

If only Loghaine had not been a traitor, Duncan had not died, the blight was not ongoing, Anora was not his future, and they were not still looking for Andraste’s ashes to cure Arl Eamon, life would be fine. Alistair squared his armored shoulders and felt oddly cheerful in the sunshine. 

After all, they had killed that desire demon fairly quickly this time. It was a good team.


	8. Leliana and Shoes, part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zevran gets involved...

“Zevran? Can you teach me how to give a massage?” Alistair asked one night, smiling charmingly.

“My friend, it takes many years to learn the subtle art of massage. Teach it to you overnight? I cannot,” Zevran was polishing his daggers by the fire.

“Well, what about showing me how to do a foot massage then, to start? That should be simpler,” Alistair’s tone was all innocence, but Wynne looked at him sharply over her glass of wine.

Alistair went on, “You could show me on Leliana, if you’re willing of course, Leliana, and I could practice what you show me on Wynne.”

Wynne choked on the wine and started coughing. "Why of course, Alistair," Leliana agreed cheerfully, "I would be happy to oblige if Zevran is willing." Zevran, with a thoughtful look at Alistair agreed, and brought out a surprisingly large assortment of scented oils from his pack. Wynne submitted to Alistair’s rather more enthusiastic than skilled attempt at following Zevran’s instructions, but she and Alistair were paying their attention to Leliana’s reactions to Zevran’s hands upon her admittedly pretty feet. It certainly seemed that the bard was enjoying the massage rather more than could be explained by Zevran’s skill as a masseuse. 

Wynne was trying hard not to laugh or make an unsuitable comment. She found it hard to relax into Alistair's hands, deliberately refusing to look up into Alistair's attempt at a bland expression.

Zevran played to the crowd, and, with a knowing expression as though explaining various sensitivities of areas of the foot to Alistair, commented on toe sucking, and managed to make Leliana’s eyes roll up into her head.


	9. Revenge... of a sort...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People think about the strangest things at the worst possible moments.

That night Alistair asked Wynne if she’d like to try something a little different. Without thought Wynne had agreed, and now she was beginning to regret it. So far they had spent quite some time with a good deal of foreplay, a bit too much to Wynne’s way of thinking at this point. Always right up to the mark, but never over. It was... a little frustrating. 

More than a little. Now that Alistair was inside of her, moving steadily, bringing her almost to the tipping point, he slowed down, his thrusts no longer regular. Catching her hands in his and pinning them by her head, he leaned close and said slyly, “Do you remember when you left me leaning against that rock unable to walk?”

He gave her a thrust that she realized now was carefully calculated not to send her over, “Well, I was wondering if I could do exactly the same thing to you...turn about is fair play...”

“Oh!” Wynne could not think of what to say, a blank mind, other than, “Oh no! Alistair, please!

I did make it up to you that night, didn’t I?”

“I suppose you did...” Alistair kept up what he was doing and damn that Templar control, “You know, I think I could keep this up all night...” damn that Grey Warden stamina!

Wynne was suddenly aware that he was holding her pinned to the bedroll, his hands held hers against the cloth to either side of her head, and his body was heavy against hers. For a moment years of rumors of Templar abuses against mages in other towers slid through her head, and she tensed. Alistair had all the skills of a Templar. If she said “no”, and he refused to stop, not any of her spells would prevail against someone specifically trained to counter them. She gave him a searching look, then relaxed. Alistair. She knew him, and she trusted him.

Deliberately relaxing her body under him she said, “You could, but would that be any fun at all for you?”

“No,” Alistair said thoughtfully, looking at her curiously, “No, I don’t think it would. Shall we consider the score even then?”

“You don’t want to win?” the mage smiled up at him ruefully.

“No,” the ex-templar was definite, “I think it’s better that we work well together. Do you want to change positions? Be on top?”

Wynne laughed, “No, this is fine, but I could stand for a little more … action?” and she lifted her hips, pushing herself against him.

Action was provided to a mutually satisfactory conclusion.

…

Alistair was spooned around Wynne, holding her comfortably. “Wynne?” he asked, What were you thinking? Right before I asked if the score was even? You tensed up. All around me, in fact. What were you thinking?”

Sighing Wynne said, “I was thinking that you are a very large man, and I am a much smaller woman. You could do anything you wanted, and there was not much that I could do to stop you. It was not... an attractive thought.”

“I can’t force you to do anything Wynne,” was his hurt answer.

“No, Alistair,” Wynne did not think her response would comfort him, “You *would not* force me to do anything. But Templars do have an advantage over Mages, and there have been abuses in the past. It is not you. It’s not you at all.

You can understand why I do not find the dominance pathway to pleasure an attractive one.”

Alistair loosened his hold on her to smooth her loosened white hair, to run a reassuring hand across Wynne’s shoulder and down her arm, “I’m not fond of it myself. And the idea of wearing chains and being spanked like a small boy doesn’t appeal much to me either. Am I rather boring?”

“Not in the least!” Wynne tried to inject just the right note of indignation, and succeeded in making him laugh.


	10. Rose of Orlais

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trashy reading anyone?

"How would anyone actually DO that?" Alistair's voice in her ear told Wynne that he had been reading over her shoulder. Again.

This was something that Wynne did feel was annoying about their relationship. She was a creature of control, used to long periods spent by herself, either in contemplation or study. While she enjoyed being part of a group, whichever one she was with, she had always been able to seek solitude before. Now there was next to none. Alistair and Wynne had made it through the period of adjustment as a couple where each others mannerisms had grated. Mainly that was because both of them knew this would not last, that their time together was limited, and that they should grab the moments while they had them.

But there was still the lack of privacy. Wynne was having a hard enough time submerging herself into the fiction she had loved when she was getting regular coverage. The descriptions, florid and over the top in this Orlesian romance seemed ... silly now. Not quite as romantic as when she had enjoyed it before. To have Alistair, or anyone else, reading over her shoulder when she was trying to sink into the story was distracting.

Wynne took a deep breath.

"I see your point," Wynne remarked dryly, "but this is fictional, and not necessarily representing reality."

"You'd need three hands!

And the woman on the cover," Alistair went on, "Her bosom...each breast is bigger than her head! How does she... walk...or sleep...or ... anything else?"

Wynne gave in to temptation, "What do you mean, Alistair? Anything else?"

The warden lay down next to the mage on their joined bedrolls. Snorting he said, "She could suffocate a man with those! A baby would drown with what those would produce. ...and what about her partner?"

Wynne happily fed him an opening, "What about him?"

"His waist!" Alistair sounded affronted.

"Yes?" Wynne looked sideways at him, at his waist, strong, muscles covered by the padding from his armor now, but she enjoyed their delineation when he was stripped down. He had a trim waist, but it was suited to fighting in heavy armor, with a big sword and shield, to action and lifting and swinging.

"It's tiny. I could break him in half if he didn't fall over from the weight of those shoulders, those huge biceps, and that tremendous chest," Alistair thought for a moment, then went on, "Not tremendous in the sense of attractive. tremendous in that it's unbelievably large.

How could they get enough silverite to cover that massive top?" Wynne was trying not to laugh at how incensed Alistair sounded as he went on, "And next to nothing on the arse and legs to support all that weight!

No armor would fit!"

"I am guessing it's a good thing they didn't try to reproduce the armor described in here?" Wynne prodded and then settled in to enjoy the rant.

"Don't get me started! Spikes? Spikes on the gloves? How could he hold his sword? Much less the 'massive two hander' they were describing, with it's huge pommel of polished blood red stone?" Alistair stopped suddenly.

"Alistair," Wynne started to laugh, "Were you reading this when I wasn't looking? Or have you read it before?"

The former templar blushed, "I may have looked through it while you were at the market with Theron and Morrigan," he admitted, "There's nothing wrong with reading."

Only Alistair could make Wynne laugh like this. Finally, "Alright, tell me what you thought."

"Really?" Alistair turned on his side to face her.

"Yes, really," Wynne started to laugh again, "Half the fun of a book is to talk about it with someone else who's read it."

There was a gleam in the man's eye as he took up her challenge, "Well, the way he's holding her in that chapter couldn't possibly be comfortable either..."

"For either of them..."

"Exactly!" Alistair plucked the book from Wynne's fingers and started to read aloud, "The Orlesian beauty struggled against her valiant Chevalier captor.

'Alors' she pleaded, 'we must not! It will undo everything your family has worked for!'

'All I desire is you, ma petite. For you I would brave the Archdemon itself!'

What an utter pile of manure!" Alistair critiqued.

Sadly, Wynne had to agree. Her favorite romances and adventures did not have quite the same spice to them now that she was living an adventure, if not precisely a romance as the Orlesian authors would have depicted.

Alistair was no longer looking at the book, but staring at the canvas tent above them, "We could probably write a story better than this," his thoughtful voice tickled her ears.

"We?" Wynne was startled.

"Sure! Think about the phrases Oghren has saved up... They'd fit right in! Look where the Chevalier calls her his 'little cabbage of the night' and promises to ... hmmm ... I wonder if that's possible..."

Wynne had to admit that it was very pleasant what Alistair smilingly insisted they try out, just to see if it was feasible.

And for the next few days it was highly entertaining to hear the suggestions that Zevran, Leliana, Oghren, and even Morrigan put forth for Alistair's book, "A Mabari of Ferelden". Only Sten seemed disgruntled by the idea. As the big Qunari put it, "You should strive for literature that is worth reading. Not trash that is a waste of printed material."

Wynne caught Sten reading Rose of Orlais in his room at the next Inn, quietly, where no one would notice.


	11. Breaking out...

Alistair took a deep breath as soon as they left the Arl’s Denerim estate’s servant’s entrance. 

“Feeling closed in?” Wynne was sympathetic.

“Not so closed in as I soon will be,” the voice was uncomplaining, but Wynne wished it was possible to reach out and hold Alistair’s hand. 

Wynne and Theron had been present at Alistair’s abortive meeting with his sister, Goldanna. When Wynne would have gone to Alistair and reassured him, Theron placed a hand on her arm, “Wynne, he is right. Alistair will need to toughen himself against this. Please remember that you and I are preparing him for the throne of Ferelden.”

“Theron, I don’t know... I can’t see if I’m hurting him now. If he grows to depend on me...I’m dying. I’m already a dead woman,” Wynne had not thought that life would turn around as much as it had since Ostagar.

Theron was kind, “As am I, Wynne. As is Allister. I can’t see how this will all turn out, Wynne, for I would not have predicted the two of you together at all.

Will you stand by Alistair until his coronation? I grieve for pain it will cause you, as well as Alistair,” the Gray Warden paused, and though he looked very tired, there was a smile, “But I envy you the joy as well.”

If nothing else, the smile stiffened Wynne’s spine, and stopped her whining, even to herself. It also started the thoughtful evaluation of events that was characteristic of the Senior Mage.

Eventually Wynne would have to give up Alistair. The King. Better to think of Alistair as he would become. She would have to give him instruction on some basics, which would include not telling Anora about all of this. Already Wynne had noticed curiosity on the part of the Queen, and had been amused by how smoothly the young woman was diverted by varying members of the party. Wynne would miss them all, even if she would not miss the intrigue.

Then with a pang she realized that it would of course be Alistair that she would miss beyond all thought.

“Hellooooo,” there was a pull at her ponytail, “Wynne, I am right here. What do you want?”

Looking into brown eyes, watching the sun glint on his short cropped hair, “Was I saying something?” Wynne asked as innocently as she was able.

Alistair leaned close, smelling of leather and soap, and well, Alistair, “While I do not mind you calling my name with your eyes glazed over,“ his lips were touching her ear as he meant this for no one but her, “It might look better if it was not in the Lower Market.”

Wynne fought the childish impulse to stick her tongue out. Alistair watched her struggle and nodded sagely, “Better by far, my dear, for us all to behave like adults,” then laughed at Wynne’s unladylike gesture in return.

The sunshine felt wonderful, even better dressed in ordinary clothing. Alistair rolled his broad shoulders under the cloth, grimacing appreciatively at the lack of armor. Wynne was unaccustomed to clothing other than her mage’s robes. The skirts were more complicated, heavier. By unspoken agreement they avoided the armourers, weapons smiths, and alchemists. Sauntering down a long the outer wall of the Chantry, Alistair asked nonchalantly, “Anyone following?”

Wynne stopped herself from shaking her head, “No?”

Alistair cut through the Chantry courtyard as though he had every right to be there, as Wynne hurried after, trying not to look furtive. Rounding a corner, Wynne found herself in a small open place, with a well in a cobbled yard.

Breathing in the scent of roses from two small bushes in the corner, Wynne looked about for the errant Alistair. He stepped from behind a stone coppice, and swept Wynne off her feet and around into a tight clinch. When they broke for air, the man looked directly into the woman’s eyes, pushed her back against the Chantry wall, and began to kiss his way down Wynne’s jaw and along her neck. Wynne could feel his excitement through the heavy cloth of her dress. Alistair’s hand moved downward, gathering the heavy folds of Wynne’s skirts. Wynne’s arms slid around his neck, pressing breasts against his chest, rocking her hips against Alistair’s groin. Alistair growled into Wynne’s neck and began to pull the skirts up. “Alistair?” Wynne’s voice was breathy and questioning.

“Wynne!” humor in Alistair’s quiet growl as he finally took the skirts up to Wynne’s waist. He felt Wynne’s right hand gone from his neck and pulling open his fly, then his release from the imprisoning material. Lifting Wynne, Alistair took her in a single quick, deep thrust. Wynne wrapped her legs around his waist and arms at his shoulders, her back against the wall and pushed at him. After several more thrusts Wynne’s panting became quiet moans. Alistair laughed into her ear, “Will you look at the Chantry boy now?”

“You,” Wynne had a difficult time getting her thought out in words, “Are NOT a boy!”

The mage glimpsed Alistair’s pleased grin, and then all she could think of was what he was doing to her, of the building sweetness. Neither of them lasted long after that.

... 

“Really, Alistair?” Wynne was still flushed as they walked back to the Arl’s estate, “The Chantry? What were you thinking about?”

Alistair, who looked far too self-satisfied for his own good simply commented that “Chantry Man” did not have quite the same ring to it as “Chantry Boy”. 

Wynne was captured by their companions as soon as they showed face inside the gate and finally waved Alistair through while she distracted Leliana and Theron. Then Zevran caught her on the way to her room. “My dear Wynne, we must have a small…chat,” Zevran did not look happy.

Wynne cocked an eyebrow in what Zevran was aware as a copy of his own mannerism – first Leliana, then Alistair, and now Wynne…this had passed beyond amusing to irritating. He was not to be caricatured! Since he was also not to be side tracked, he followed the mage to the hallway, a cul-de-sac really, that housed the doorway to her room. It was the perfect place to be trapped, at least Zevran was reasonably sure they would also not be overheard. After all, there were ways to prevent the voice from traveling.

“You were beyond foolishness today,” he began, leaning closer to speak quietly, “What if someone had followed you from the estate?”

“Obviously, you did,” Wynne said.

“Well, yes, but I am less likely to cut your foolish throats for you,” the Antivan responded acidly, “And while I am all for the enjoying of one’s pleasures while they are there for the taking, to have the future king sneaking out for a tryst with his paramour on the Denerim Chantry grounds is…

Words fail me!”

“Foolish?” quoted Wynne.

“Do not mock me, Wynne. I am in deadly earnest. While you and Alistair are far from helpless, it takes but a moment for the Crows to fulfill their contract. What were you thinking?” the elf’s voice rose slightly before, “No. Do not tell me, I know what you were thinking. But it must stop. I…we cannot…” Zevran broke off, alert.

“Someone is listening,” and the assassin’s dagger was in his hand.

The door to Wynne’s room opened inward, and then Alistair propped himself against the sill, “Hello, Zevran,” it was drawl, and both saw the glint in the Gray Warden’s eye, ”Did you have something you wanted to say to me as well?”

The murderous look from the assassin phased the ex-Templar not at all. Zevran sheathed his dagger, put his hand flat on the man’s chest and gave a token push. Alistair did not move.

“In, please. I am weary of discussing this in the hallway,” and the Antivan waved Wynne into her own room ahead of himself.

…

“The Crows have always been here, but Taliesin has been sighted. Master Ignacio told Theron that the Crows would take no further contracts on you, my friend, nor Theron, but Taliesin is still out there. And he is moving. Please do not give me further cause for a heart attack by gallivanting into the market place unarmed?” Zevran allowed himself to look as tired as he felt.

Wynne sighed, and Zevran looked at her, “Wynne, as you love him, do not let him do something that will get him killed.”

Alistair put his arms around Wynne and rested his chin on top of her head when she relaxed against him, “Alright, Zev. You’ve made your point. I’ll be good.”

Zevran damned that place in his heart that was softened toward these people, that ached at the sad look on the Gray Warden’s face.


	12. Return to Redcliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you tell your lover that you've slept with another woman? That you're leaving her?

The army had gathered at Redcliff, to discover that the bulk of the Darkspawn Horde was headedfor Denerim. Tomorrow the army would start their march to catch up. 

At the knock on her door at Redcliff Castle, Wynne hesitated before answering. It was later than she had expected, and Alistair had disappeared after a meeting of the Gray Wardens. Perhaps the better way to put it would be "later than she had hoped".

In the months since she had first taken Alistair to her bed Wynne had found herself falling in love with the man. It was not the bedding of him, she had bedded others, indeed that was why Alistair had come to her in the first place. It was the gentle good humor, the strength of him, the sense of duty, and at times the wild rebellion of him. The mage wondered if Alistair understood that she was in love with him. It was something she had never said out loud, though Zevran had obviously figured it out.

Opening the solid wooden door she looked up into his guarded expression. It had become more and more common since Denerim and the Landsmeet. Tall, his hair cropped short, broad in the chest, strong and muscular, but with long legs that made Wynne want to watch him move forever. Alistair waited for her invitation before entering and shutting the door quietly behind himself.

Wordlessly Wynne put her arms around his waist, and slowly Alistair responded to hold her tightly. The man smelled of soap, suspiciously strong as though he'd just had a bath, and something else, magic, possibly lyrium, but definitely wilderness herbs such as Morrigan was prone to use. After a time, "Alistair?" Wynne's uncertainty seeped into the question. 

What was the question? "Alistair, why have you not come to me since the Landsmeet? Why do you smell of Morrigan? Why are you here now? How will I manage when you have taken on a wife and left me behind?"

A very deep sigh, then Alistair’s voice had a smile in it, “Wynne?”

“The settle is more comfortable than standing here by the door...or...” Wynne said.

“The bed,” Alistair was definite, “The bed would be more comfortable by far.”

A thrill ran through the mage, and she did not try to stop it. It had been days since he had last come to her room.  
Released from his tight hold, Wynne lifted her face for his kiss, which went on for an enjoyably long time. Wynne followed Alistair’s lead, the fighter setting the pace and their eventual disrobing and movement to the bed built a slow and exciting heat followed by a long night of pleasure. Alistair was thorough, and Wynne found herself striving to give him everything she had, forcing herself not to think of this as the last time.

Aside from the murmurs and laughter of lovemaking, there was no conversation, no talk at all. Dawn came with neither of them sleeping, and as the castle began to stir around them, Alistair kissed Wynne softly, then eased out of bed. Dressing quickly he gave her a look from the door before leaving quietly.

The end, Wynne thought, feeling immeasurably tired.


End file.
